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It wasn't like anything had changed, nothing he could put his finger on, but Derek Hale couldn't shake the feeling he was living in an alternate universe.
He was well aware that this wasn't a normal feeling to have and it wasn't as if it consumed his every waking thought, but just every so often he'd take a look around, watch Laura dragging Cora down the hallway by her ankle, both of them shrieking with laughter and something about it wouldn't feel entirely real.
Almost like it was a dream, except he was very much awake.
At least, that's how it started. Just a dreamlike quality to the occasional moment - like watching his dad flipping pancakes or his uncle showing up at the loft with a bottle of something expensive to celebrate.
He expected that he would grow out of it, that as he got older, left home got a job, the moments would get less and less. But instead, over the years it got worse.
Dreamlike moments turned into dreamlike days where Derek felt like a ghost haunting his life unable to escape the thought that none of this is real. It was extremely disconcerting but he was able to let them pass.
He never told anyone.
Not even Stiles.
He assumed that if he could just ignore it, it would eventually go away.
This worked at first because those endless days where nothing felt real would be few and far between. Just one of those things. He would wake up in the morning and feel entirely disconnected from his world, from the man sleeping beside him and he would simply shrug and brace himself to drift through the rest of the day with that gnawing anxiety eating away at him.
But those days never went away. They got more frequent.
Now, Derek feels like he can see a whole different reality overlaying the world around him. One where he is bleeding out on the streets, searching desperately for Stiles. Now, some mornings he wakes up in a cold sweat, choking on non-existent smoke. Now, he calls to see his parents and finds his childhood home burnt to ash, the nightmarish dream overlaying reality. Now, he sees his uncle snarling, vicious, bloody and rabid. Some days he sees him lying unresponsive in a hospital bed. Some days he feels like he can read his parents tombstone. There are more names than there should be.
Of course he's never spoken these thoughts aloud, he doesn't need to feel any more crazy than he already does. He doesn't want to worry them, any of them, when there's nothing obviously wrong.
Once, he even considered therapy, but what would he have to say? His life is fine. Charmed. Except for the hallucinations - if they can even be called that. And how would he even begin to explain himself, where would he start? What could he possibly say to anyone that would actually help and not get him locked up in Eichen House.
Better to stay quiet and say nothing.
But some days… some days linger like ash, bitter on his tongue amid the warm glow of home. It throws the shadow of grief over everything he does, until he spends his days balanced on a knife edge. As if there is nothing but the thinnest sliver of time between his world and the horror.
If you asked his mom, she'd probably tell you that he always had a tendency for melancholy. Outgoing in public. Withdrawn in the comfort of his childhood home with nothing tangible he could touch with his hand to explain the feelings that have haunted him.
It doesn't matter where he is or who he is with, or what he is doing, the horrors remain.
He has no reason to feel this way. Objectively, nothing even remotely close to tragedy has ever touched the lives of him or his family. Whole and hale, just like their name.
So he shrugs it off, washes down the bitter taste of smoke with water and morning coffee and continues with his day.
Stiles can tell something is wrong. Derek can see it out the corner of his eye. That slight crease between his eyes that Stiles gets when he is trying to figure something out. But even if Stiles asked the questions Derek can tell are burning on his tongue, Derek isn't even sure he could explain it.
He doesn't want to make something out of nothing and there is objectively nothing. Stiles has his hands full as it is. There is always something in this town, something threatening the pack, something to research, jobs to do, potions to make, spells to research. He makes a good emissary and Derek is so proud of him. He figures it's better this way, if Derek can just keep these episodes to himself. If he never says it out loud, then he can pretend they are just something temporary that will pass.
So, he'll tell Stiles about the odd nightmare. He'll tell him about the bad days as just that, maybe he'll even include the occasional detail, but the extent of it, he keeps to himself.
It's all Derek can do to shrug it off, not wanting to make something out of nothing. Hoping the dreams or whatever they are, will just stop on their own.
One day, he figures. One day he won't feel so far apart.
***
It wasn't like anything had changed - recently at least - nothing he could put his finger on, but Stiles Stilinski couldn't shake the feeling that there was something up with Derek Hale.
Okay, at this point, it is more like a long list of evidence than just a mere feeling. But it's still unnerving, and Stiles doesn't like unnerving. In fact, he loathes unnerving. Unnerving is never anything good.
He worries over Derek, the same way you might worry at the gap left by a tooth. Even when he doesn't think he's worrying over it, his awareness will catch on something important and oh look, there he is, worrying over it.
It really doesn't help that everything about Derek is subtle - there's never anything obvious. Never anything Stiles can grab and yell gotcha. He relies totally on pure instinct when it comes to Derek. And Stiles has good instincts, honed to a… very sharp and pointy thing. Like a… kebab skewer. He's had to. If the past decade has taught him anything at all, it is to trust his instincts. And his instincts tell him that there is definitely something up with Derek.
It also doesn't help that with Derek, it's always so hard to tell what's the best thing to do.
He could ask him outright, that would be the adult approach. "Hey Derek! What's up?" Except Derek might not want to talk about it and if he doesn't want to talk about it, all Stiles will get is a shrug and a "nothing." And what's worse than constant doubt? Someone stonewalling your constant doubt. And Stiles really wants to respect Derek's right to silence, he does, he really, really does. But if he doesn't ask, is he ignoring it?
If he ignores it, what does that say about him? What does it say about their relationship? And Stiles doesn't know how much he should be worrying about that. And maybe it's payback, maybe it's even hypocritical of him, because Stiles has been keeping a lot of secrets and he still hates that Derek is keeping something from him.
But he knows that his secrets are safe secrets. He doesn't know what Derek's secret is and he can't for the life of him figure out what it is. And that is an unsafe secret. Which has been bugging him. Because that's usually what he's so good at. Secrets.
And Derek.
In fact, he is an expert on Derek Hale. He has been fluent in eyebrow since they were still in high-school. It only got easier when Stiles officially became part of the pack. He has known Derek a long, long time. Double the amount of time that Derek has known him, really - when he thinks about it. He can read him like a book. So, why can't he figure out what's been eating at him?
All this is racing through his mind as he lies there next to the stone cold space in the bed where there should be a Derek.
He's left early. Again. Snuck out, really.
Stiles is trying hard not to take it personally but it is getting harder. He knows Derek didn't have a nightmare - Stiles usually wakes up for those. So in many ways the withdrawal feels worse. What could be so bad that he can't tell Stiles about it?
Stiles sighs, reaching out a hand to the space as if he could gain some kind of clue from the fabric itself. Yeah… he's getting pretty desperate now.
It wasn't supposed to go this way. It was supposed to be better this time. He was supposed to be better.
Galvanizing into action, Stiles peels himself out of bed and throws on some clothes.
He's going to find his man.
***
Stiles bounces through the door like an earthquake, startling the handful of customers in Derek's bookshop. He gives them an apologetic wave as the door rebounds off its hinges and Derek audibly sighs from his perch by the till.
Stiles grins, holding the two cups of coffee up by way of greeting and apology.
"Hey," he says, sprawling himself over the counter, leaning forward to wrap his fingers around the v of Derek's Henley and pull him in for a kiss.
"Hey," he says again as they pull apart, grin miles wide even though his heart is aching. "You look like shit. Couldn't sleep?"
Derek can't help but smirk and Stiles considers this a victory - every smile he can coax out of Derek always feels like the biggest reward.
"Did I wake you?" Derek says.
"Unfortunately not!" Stiles feigns mock outrage. "You snuck out - why? What's going on?"
Derek shifts and Stiles just knows what he's going to say. He pulls a sympathetic face.
"It's nothing?" he says before Derek can even open his mouth.
Derek shrugs, grabbing the coffee that Stiles pushes towards him and takes a sip to stall answering. Stiles can tell and he sighs, tapping his fingers against his own cup wondering how best to play it.
"I know it's not nothing," he says softly. "Do you… want to talk about it?" He reaches across to thread his fingers through Derek's and Derek squeezes back, the pressure reassuring even as he looks away.
"There's really nothing to talk about," he says evasively.
Stiles can't help it, he snorts with genuine amusement. "Yeah… You do realize I can tell when you're lying, right? Even without the super hearing and super senses." He gestures vaguely at Derek who glances back with a soft smile, the one that makes Stiles' heart melt.
"I just woke up early. That's all."
And Stiles thinks about letting it slide - he really does. Just like he lets them all slide.
It sounds so plausible - like yes, sure, that's all. Nothing to worry about. Nothing to see here. Move along now. But Stiles is not convinced. Nope. Not at all.
He thinks about that empty space beside him this morning and shakes his head.
Derek is best approached gently. Slowly. Carefully. Like one might approach a wild dog - or wolf - if someone was so inclined to corner a wild animal. Which Stiles does not recommend having tried it more times than he'd like to count. No, you have to approach with cation, almost sideways, so they can track you, but so you don't seem like a threat.
Non-directive. Stiles is good at this. He can totally do this.
"You've been getting a lot of nightmares lately," he says, conversationally before his brain catches up to his mouth. He sighs inwardly at himself. So much for subtle.
Derek also sighs with a soft kind of exasperation and barely resists rolling his eyes.
"Stiles…" he warns and Stiles can see Derek's barriers rising along with his stubbornness.
"What?" Stiles says, deciding just to commit although what he's committing at this particular point in time he isn't exactly sure. "You have! I'm only stating facts Derek. Come on dude, I'm worried about you."
"Don't call me dude," Derek mutters under his breath but it's more automatic these days, a pattern they fell into long ago.
Stiles waves him off. "You know I have a very good imagination, Derek. Can you imagine the things I can imagine? Are you really going to let me sit here and imagine those things in my imagination when you could just tell me what's wrong with you? hmm? Derek? Derek? Are you? hmm?"
Derek looks momentarily pinned to the chair and Stiles thinks for one glorious moment, that he's got him. That he will finally crack and spill what's been eating at him. And then Mrs Gibson, who is always in the shop, who is always buying books for god knows what, slams her latest haul down on the counter, startling the two men out of their conversation.
Stiles pulls a face that is halfway between shocked surprise and angry disgust at her, snatching his coffee away from the books and wheeling away from the counter in one smooth motion.
"Urgh. Mrs Gibson. Do you mind, we were having a private conversation here," he snaps.
Mrs Gibson simply raises an eyebrow at him, looking remarkably unimpressed.
"I'm sorry," she says, tone dripping with sarcasm. "I must have mistaken this for a bookshop."
Stiles' mouth works as he struggles to come up with a pithy rebuttal.
"I'll… mistake you… for a bookshop…" he mutters, angrily slurping his coffee, eyes narrowed. He can see Derek turning to face his customer with a slightly pained grimace that Stiles imagines is supposed to be a smile.
The damage is done though, the moment has passed. Stiles knows he won't be able to ask again without Derek shutting down. He's already shut down really, Stiles can tell. It's in the way his eyes shutter and his expression filters through to that carefully blank mask he always seems to wear when dealing with other people.
He hovers awkwardly, hoping for another moment but it has well and truly passed.
He takes another angry slurp of his coffee and slouches off towards the exit. "I'll see you later, Derek," he says in a tone that promises that this is not over. He hesitates for a moment with his hand on the door. "We'll talk then, yeah?"
Derek waves him off with a forced smile and Stiles leaves the shop with nothing but an aching heart.
***
Derek is being haunted by time. It's everywhere he looks. It's on the radio. It's on the TV. It's on his phone - and he's not just talking about the literal clock.
It seems like the theme of time is constantly appearing, waiting to jump scare him at every opportunity. A car rolls past and Back in Time is playing far, far too loud for his sensitive ears. Turn on the TV and Back to the Future is playing:
"The flux capacitor - it's what makes time travel possible!"
Everywhere he goes, everyone seems to be referencing Groundhog Day for some inexplicable reason. Has life really become that collectively monotonous?
Derek is smart. He knows it's likely just confirmation bias. That's all this is - right? He started noticing it once and now he can't stop. He's just paying attention to all the bits of information that confirm his theory. It's just - odd. It's an odd thing for him to pay attention to. Time has always been there, his entire life. Why is he now deciding to pay attention to it? So he does what he always does with these small inconsequential personal inconveniences. He ignores it.
He doesn't believe in messages from the universe.
That's what he keeps telling himself.
But, to make matters worse, Stiles keeps acting weird - well, weirder than usual.
Derek hadn't noticed anything at first because he always expects a certain baseline amount of strangeness. So what if Time Warp started playing on his phone and Stiles dropped it in the scramble to grab it? This is how Stiles normally uses the phone. He has regularly witnessed Stiles launching his phone clear across the room instead of answering it. That on it's own isn't exactly unusual.
Sure, the song itself was weird but Derek knows that Stiles was thinking of playing Rocky Horror for the next film night So he didn't think much of it. But then, instead of Rocky Horror, Laura brought The Terminator which, for some completely inexplicable reason, Stiles has taken great offense to.
Derek sighs, pinching his nose and wondering for the thousandth time why he ever thought introducing these two was a good idea. The argument has inevitably grown heated and for some reason a spiral of hemlock embedded in fresh soil is appearing as an afterimage every time he closes his eyes. He can feel a headache growing which is impressive really. He didn't think that he could even get migraines, but maybe that's what it is. He's heard Stiles describe the aura he gets when his head feels like it's going to split open and it feels exactly like that. Maybe that's what the images are.
The excuse sounds weak to his ears. Maybe he should go see his emissary. Except that's Stiles.
Guilt squirms uneasily in his gut. He hates keeping things from Stiles but his boyfriend has enough on his plate right now. It can wait. There will be a right time.
The throbbing pain grows worse, Laura's voice turning shrill and Stiles flailing gestures get more and more chaotic until Derek can't take anymore.
"Can we just watch something," he snaps. It comes out harsher than he means and both Stiles and Laura turn to face him in surprise.
Stiles nods, pursing his lips, apparently thinking fast before he throws his hands up. "Yeah. Fine. Put the Terminator on." He throws himself onto the sofa, patting the seat next to him, indicating for Derek to sit down.
Derek can see Stiles giving him his concerned look, forehead and nose wrinkled in concern. Stiles long fingers find their way to tangle with his own as he sits down and Derek presses close, squeezing Stiles hand in a silent apology.
He glances across and has to fight back the urge to flinch as for a second all he sees is Stiles but not-Stiles. His eyes are ringed with dark and bloody shadows and there's a wicked, vicious look in his sharp eyes. He smiles slowly, the movements a thousand miles away from his usual expression. And then it is gone, Stiles is back, staring at him with open concern.
Laura interrupts them, her eyes narrowed suspiciously at both of them. "You won't talk through the whole thing will you?" she asks. The whole moment has passed in the blink of an eye but to Derek it felt like eternity. He feels like he is loosing his grip on reality.
Stiles tears his eyes away from Derek and gives Laura a deeply sarcastic smile, miming zipping his lips shut but he flashes Derek his crossed fingers when Laura turns away. Derek rolls his eyes but there's no heat behind it. "What are you, twelve?" he mutters, pressing against Stiles side and breathing a little easier as he feels some of the tension drain out of his shoulders. Stiles is fine. Everything is fine.
Cora is watching them with a frown. "You're being weirder than usual," she observes as she leans forward to grab a handful of popcorn.
Stiles laughs nervously. Derek can tell it's his nervous laugh, even without the light scent of mint that breezes past and Derek feels his stomach drop. Stiles is definitely hiding something, from all of them.
"How can you tell?" he asks, shoving a handful of popcorn in his mouth and talking around it. "I'm always weird."
"Yeah, you I expect it from, but I'm talking about the both of you. You smell weird too."
"Well that's rude," Stiles says, still spewing popcorn crumbs everywhere. "You're not so sunshine and roses yourself."
Cora opens her mouth to respond but Laura shhs them all angrily. "Will you all just shut up?" she asks, gesturing angrily towards the TV. "Some of us actually want to watch this."
"One. One of us wants to watch this," Stiles mutters, loud enough for Laura to hear, soft enough for her to pretend not to.
Derek ducks his head to hide his smile.
Later. He can talk to Stiles about all of this, later.
***
Later never comes.
Derek has good intentions - but he also knows exactly what they say about those and he figures he is well on the road to hell by now.
His thoughts are constantly on the tip of his tongue, burning with the need to share with Stiles - Stiles who has always been there for him, Stiles who has always fought by his side. Stiles who has never abandoned him.
But every time he takes a breath to start the conversation the words fail him. He's not even sure how to articulate his fears and even if it is a good day or an opening presents itself, his thoughts swirl around his head, too loud and overwhelming to speak. Don't say anything now, it'll only ruin the day. Not now - Stiles came back so happy, Derek can't bear to wipe the smile off his face.
How will he even react? How can you drop this on him now? What if this is the one thing Stiles can't handle. What if this is the thing that breaks them apart? What if this is the one thing that breaks him? What if? What if? What if? It can wait.
There's no need to rush. There will be a right time. He just has to wait.
And the moment passes.
There is never a right time.
So, after days of his thoughts running in circles through his head, after days of beating himself up, he goes to the one person who might be able to help him.
He goes to his mom.
He doesn't give her any details, instead he manages to phrase it more as relationship advice. How do you have those difficult talks with your partner? How do you communicate your needs? How do you give them bad news?
His mom gives that very expressive shrug that seems to speak volumes and smiles softly, standing up from her desk to invite him for a walk. She takes him outside, among the trees in the late winter sunshine and breathes deep.
"I love it here," she says to him, her eyes crinkling at the corners as she smiles.
Derek knows this. She tells him this every time they come here. He tries to be patient, really he does, but the image of his mom's grave is haunting him even now. He shudders despite himself and his mum flicks her sharp eyes to his.
"What is this really about?" she asks.
Derek shrugs, the movement a faint echo of hers. His mom waits, holding space.
"I need to talk to Stiles about something - difficult, personal," he says eventually.
"And you're worried about how he's going to react?" she infers.
Derek thinks about this. Yes! And no. He is worried about how Stiles is going to react. He's also worried about how Stiles is going to treat him. He's worried about what will happen once he voices his reality. What it will mean for the two of them. The longer this has gone on, the harder it becomes.
"Yes," he decides on.
His mom shoots him a look like she can see right through him but she doesn't press. "You two have known each other a long time now."
Derek nods, unsure what she is getting at.
Talia snorts softly, pressing forward through the trees, leading him towards the clearing.
"Oh Derek. Why are you asking me when you already know the answer?" she says gently, reaching out a hand to rub his shoulders. "Either you tell him what's troubling you and work through the consequences together, or you decide to carry the burden yourself, knowing that even if you choose not to tell him the truth, the truth often finds a way of making itself known whether you want it to or not."
Derek sighs, glancing at the ground. It's the right advice. The advice he needs. But he doesn't have to like it. Beside him, his mom laughs softly.
"You always act as if you are carrying the weight of the world on your shoulders. Stiles does too. I wonder if that's why the two of you work so well together." She sighs and Derek watches her lift her eyes to the splashes of blue he can see between the evergreens. "Trust Stiles to share your troubles Derek. And he'll trust you with his."
***
It turns out, his moms advice is easier said than done but it galvanizes his resolve. As it happens, he needn't have worried because the perfect opportunity presents itself a few days later.
Derek wakes up screaming.
He thrashes awake, smoke suffocating him as he fights against the choking grip on his throat to shout a warning, to shout for help, to scream in agony. He can still feel the searing heat of the flames eating at his skin, stinging and biting into his flesh.
He falls out of bed, landing hard on the floor, the pain working somewhat to ground him as he stares wildly around. For one horrible moment he does not know where he is. The glass of water that was on his nightstand totters and smashes to the floor and Stiles is there, launching himself off the bed to kneel in front of Derek.
One cool hand wraps around his arm, firm and grounding and Derek sucks in a deep, shuddering breath. He focuses on Stiles, allowing his eyes and touch to ground him.
Stiles' wild eyes are rimmed with red. He looks wrecked, like Derek feels. "You were having a nightmare," he explains redundantly.
Derek nods, still struggling to breathe. The water on the floor is seeping into his clothes but he can't move, the images still burning vividly in his mind.
"You know you're gonna have to tell me eventually," Stiles says into the silence.
Derek shakes his head. He doesn't have the words.
Stiles mouth forms that thin stubborn line that Derek loves so much. "Fuck that," he says, reaching out to brush away the tears Derek didn't even realize were running down his cheeks. "Sorry, but you can't expect me to sit here and watch you torture yourself. I'll give you all the time in the world but you've got to let me in."
Derek shudders involuntarily, another vision, memory, whatever appearing in his mind of a creature wrapped in bandages, consuming Stiles from the inside out. He backs away, until his back hits the wall.
Stiles goes with him, hurt flashing behind his eyes and Derek realizes that Stiles thinks that he is crawling away from him. He shakes his head, trying to explain but there are no words. He has no words.
Stiles takes a breath to steady himself, thinking fast, before he decides to settle down beside Derek. He'll wait. However long Derek needs, he'll wait. But he's not leaving without answers.
Stiles watches closely as Derek takes another deep, rattling breath. His eyes look haunted and it breaks his heart to see him like this. He would do anything - anything, if it meant Derek not having to suffer. He would do whatever it takes. He would move heaven and earth. In many ways, he has moved heaven and earth. But somehow it wasn't enough.
Stiles watches with ice in his heart as Derek's hands shake where they are pressed tightly against his closed eyes. He doesn't look up, not even when Stiles slides down the wall to sit next to him.
"It's getting worse," Derek mumbles, voice thick with emotion. "So much worse." He leans his head back against the wall, jaw clenched against the pain he is feeling in his chest. It's like someone is ripping his family away from him. It's like he's loosing everything. The screams are still echoing in his ears, the smell of acrid burning searing his nose. He can't stop them. The images keep coming no matter what.
"What's getting worse?"
Derek presses his hands harder into his eyes, hating how they keep shaking.
"I've been getting…" he breaks off. This is all so fucking stupid - but Stiles thumb is rubbing circles gently against his thigh, his presence solid and grounding against his own. He can do this. "I think I've been getting visions."
Stiles frowns - whatever he expected, this wasn't it. "Visions?"
Derek shakes his head, lowering his hands in frustration at himself. "No - I - that's not right. I don't know what they are."
Stiles doesn't say anything, giving him his space to think.
"I get - flashes. Images. Images of things that haven't happened. Things that I've never seen or experienced but they're…" he breaks off but Stiles seems to understand. His hand has gone very still on Derek's leg.
"And then sometimes I think I'm in -" Derek breaks off hating how pathetic and confused he sounds. He takes another breath, gritting his teeth to force out the words. "I think I'm in a parallel universe."
Stiles makes a choking noise and Derek flinches. This is exactly what he had been afraid of. He braces himself for rejection - dismissal.
Instead, he feels Stiles wrap a gentle but firm hand around his arm. "I didn't realize it was so bad," he murmurs, voice wracked with pain and… guilt. "Oh. Derek, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."
Derek frowns. This wasn't the reaction he was expecting and the confusion provides him with a momentary flash of clarity. "It's not your fault," he says, turning his head to look openly at Stiles, laying himself bare before the man he loves.
Stiles laughs bitterly. "Actually. I think it kind of might be."
Derek's breath catches and Stiles can see anguish written across every line of his face. The guilt is so strong, twisting Stiles' stomach into pieces. He feels utterly sick.
He did this. He tried, he tried so fucking hard to keep Derek from this, to protect him, to do everything to make sure he never had to feel this pain. And yet, somehow, here they are.
Here they always are.
But. Stiles can fix this too. He did it once. He can do it again.
It's time.
"So yeah, those… um nightmares and the visions you er… say you've been having. I think I might know why," Stiles says, hating how his voice wobbles in the silence.
Stiles shakes his head, knowing how crazy this is going to sound. He almost laughs. Almost. Because what else is new - he always sounds crazy. Better to just say it. Let the truth will out. "It's because I went back in time."
The silence is loud. To Derek it amplifies everything. The sound of the traffic rolling past the window, the chatter from the people on the street. The thud of Stiles heart, steady and unwavering.
"You went back in time?" Derek says slowly, his mind struggling to wrap itself around the concept. Whatever he expected, it wasn't this. Sure, it's possible stranger things have happened, their life has always been unusual. But this…
Stiles nods slowly, uncharacteristically serious and Derek presses closer.He's never seen Stiles look so brittle, his eyes unfocused and elsewhere, the stress etched into every line of his body. His leg bounces, fingers twisted together. The silence is so loud, stretching between them.
"It was awful…" he mutters and Derek can smell the bitterness of grief that wells up. "You lost… everything - and you fought so hard. Then we lost everyone and Derek… I couldn't…" he breaks off, voice cracking as the words fall apart in his throat. He's spent a long time trying to forget that future. To make it right. "I had to. I had to do something. I couldn't - I wasn't - I lost you, Derek. Do you understand? You - you were gone… and I had to… I had to fix it."
Derek's breath catches, Stiles' pain a visceral sensation to him. "What did you do?"
Stiles pulls in a long, shuddering breath. "I went back to the start."
Derek thinks it sounds so simple, as if it was just that easy. Beside him, Stiles grins that wild, bitter grin that Derek loves so much. It hurts to see it now, recognizing what that decision would have cost him.
"How?"
Stiles sighs but nods his acceptance. Derek has a right to know - it's his life Stiles has re-written, even though it's Stiles' life that was sacrificed.
"I knew where it all started to go wrong, so I went to the Nemeton. I figured enough Hale blood had been spilled on its roots and that it owed you - and me. It was reluctant at first but I didn't really give it a choice. It took almost everything I had to make it back. Nearly killed me. That illness I had? Yeah that's what that was."
Derek nods. He hadn't really known Stiles back then but everyone had heard how sick he'd been, how he'd nearly died. It wasn't long after Claudia had passed - the Sheriff had been beside himself.
All that. Stiles went through all that, for him. For them.
"The beginning - where it all started, it was Paige..."
Derek shifts just slightly, the only indication to the surprise he feels. Whatever he had expected to be the beginning, that wasn't it.
"In - in the original timeline, she uh, she died…"
Once Stiles starts, he can't stop, everything pouring out of him like the blood he gave to get back. Derek sits and listens to it all, his own feelings and emotions held on a tight leash, giving Stiles the space he needs.
It explains everything. The nightmares, the flashbacks, that bitter taste of ash in his mouth, the echoing screams, the burn of the flames. He listens to every word, listens to everything Stiles has been through, everything he fought to change. By the time he finishes Stiles has tears spilling down his cheeks, his amber eyes haunted and over-bright, that future feeling closer than it has in years.
Derek closes the space between them, his fingers cradling his jaw as his thumbs ever so gently brush the tears from his cheeks. There's emotion in his own eyes, unshed tears for everything that never was, for that other him, for his other family, for everything that Stiles endured to make it right.
"You did all that," he breathes. Stiles tries to wave him off but Derek holds him firm. He isn't so good with his words but he feels. He feels so deeply sometimes it threatens to tear him apart. He leans in, resting his forehead against Stiles. "You never said a word."
Stiles laughs and Derek winces at how fractured it sounds. "Would you have believed me? Don't answer that!" He shakes his head. "No. Nothing to tell. I just… wanted to forget it, you know?"
Derek doesn't know, but he understands. He nods, dropping one hand to curl it tightly around Stiles waist. "You did that, all that, for us. For me," he breathes, eyes finding Stiles. He smells like hope, like tired, hard won victory. "Why?"
"Because I love you."
Derek shakes his head, the enormity of the sacrifice, the impossibility of what Stiles has been able to do - just because of… love. He is completely unworthy. He knows this with the same certainty that he knows the sky is blue. He desperately wants to ask him if it was worth it.
Stiles seems to read his mind.
"And I'd do it again. And again and again and again. Not just for you, although I would totally do it just for you - but for everyone. Laura, Cora, your mum and dad, your cousins. For Scott, Allison, Lydia, Erica, Boyd, Peter - even Jackson. Easiest decision I ever made." He offers Derek a grin, wild edged but certain. "I'd do it all again. I'd pay whatever price of it meant that none of that ever had to happen again."
The ache in Derek's chest grows as he remembers that tombstone from his flashbacks. But here and now they are all safe, he is all safe, because of Stiles.
Somehow Stiles can read his thoughts. He waves Derek off again smiling past the tears in his eyes.
"Eh. What else is new right? That's how this works. I save your lives, you save mine."
Its crazy. Its too much. Its impossible. Its… Stiles. Everything he is. Everything he represents to Derek. Stiles is his world. And that is exactly what he gave him. Stiles gave him his world. Very literally.
Derek takes a moment. He knows full well he will not be able to wrap his mind around this but more than anything, what he feels right now, on the floor of their bedroom, the sunlight filtering through their curtains and falling across their room, is relief.
He isn't going insane. He isn't having visions of some apocalyptic future.
"Why do you think I started to remember?" Derek asks, the question feeling strange on his tongue. Memories. That's what they were, they were memories of a time that never was. Memories that he was supposed to have, a past and a future that should have been his. But wasn't. Thanks to Stiles, it wasn't.
Stiles considers this, impatiently swiping a tear from his cheek. "I guess you were too close, somehow. Either to me, or to the… events. Your life - fuck, Derek. There was so much pain and tragedy. I focused on you in order to save… well everything. Maybe… maybe my magic tied the two of you somehow - er, I mean the first you - the you from the time I re-wrote. You are the same person after all."
Derek thinks this makes no sense at all and Stiles can tell. He pulls a face, dissatisfied with his own answer.
"Yeah. This is going to get confusing. I can tell." He offers a watery smile and Derek shakes his head.
Through it all, it occurs to him that his mom was right. "We should have talked about this," he admits even though it almost physically pains him to say the words outloud. "I wish -," he breaks off. Words are not his strong point but he has to say this. He has to say this for Stiles. "You shouldn't have had to carry this alone."
Stiles barks a laugh, a genuine one. "Yeah. Right back at you buddy."
Derek feels a very reluctant smile pulling at his lips. He rocks his head forward, pressing his forehead against Stiles. Words are not his strong point, but actions - actions speak louder than his words ever could.
Just as Stiles re-wrote the world for him, maybe he can make sure that this world is one that was worth saving.
And maybe he can start with a kiss.
He leans in, capturing Stiles mouth with his own. He tastes like salty tears and sherbet, like warm sun on a cold day. He tastes so much like hope and Derek deepens the kiss, wraps his arms around him and pulls him close. Stiles goes with him, straddling across Derek's lap as they hold each other close and promise never to let go.